lips. Her jaws seemed again fixed, herbreath held, her fingers clenched into the palms.
She realised that the secret hiding-place had been discovered.
"What have they taken?" she gasped, in a low, terrified tone, when atlast she found tongue.
"Apparently everything," I replied. "The place is empty."
"Empty!" she echoed, raising herself to her feet with an effort, butreeling unsteadily back to the couch, for her head was still swimmingafter the effects of the chloroform. "The fiends!" she cried.
"And poor Jane. How is she?"
"I much regret, madam, that the chloroform administered to her has had afatal effect," said the doctor, gravely.
"Dead! Jane dead?"
"Yes. They've killed her," declared the inspector. "It's wilfulmurder, that's what it is, mum. Therefore, if you can give us anyinformation as to who these ruffians may be we'll be very glad. We mustarrest them at all costs. Who do you think they might be?"
But Mrs Parham, although a strange look crossed her white, haggardfeatures, made no response to the officer's question.
"Poor Jane! Poor Jane--the brutes!" she kept on repeating, her wildeyes staring across to where the body of the dead maid-servant waslying.
From her manner I felt convinced that she suspected who the intruderswere, now that she knew that their motive had been to search in thatsecret cavity beneath the floor of the drawing-room, and possessthemselves of something concealed there.
Would she denounce them?
The inspector again questioned her, but her answers were evasive.
"My husband is in the country," she explained. "He is very often away,for his business often takes him on the Continent, to Paris andAmsterdam."
"But how do you think these men got into the house?" the officer asked."I notice that the inner glass door of the hall closes with a latchwhich can only be opened from the inside. Therefore, if they hadentered the front door with a false key they could not have passed theinner door."
This fact was interesting, and one which I had entirely overlooked.
"I have no idea how they could have entered. Perhaps by a window."
"Or perhaps by the servants' entrance," Lane suggested.
"They couldn't have got in that way, mum, because they'd have to passthrough the kitchen, and cook was there all the time. Besides, we'realways very careful that that door is never left ajar."
"It's evident that they were concealed in the house," I remarked,recollecting that tall shadowy figure that had crossed the room ontip-toe at the instant that the blind had been lowered.
"Of course," agreed the inspector. "But what we want to know is whetherthis lady has any suspicion of anyone to whose advantage it would be toobtain possession of what was concealed there."
"I don't know what was in there," she declared, in a weak, nervousvoice. "My husband made the place himself a few months ago, as he oftenhas valuable jewellery here. In the City he has a strong room, ofcourse, but here he deemed it best to make a secret hiding-place ratherthan have a fire-proof safe, which is always discussed by servants, andthe knowledge of which in a private house so soon becomes commonproperty."
"Then he used to keep valuables there?" asked the inspector.
"I believe so, but I never looked inside. It opened with a spring, thesecret of which he alone knew."
"Who made it? The man who constructed it knew the secret, no doubt. Hemay be one of those implicated."
"The piece of board with the spring he brought home with him from Parisone day. It was made there, he said. The steel box was made somewherein Chelsea."
"And who fitted the board so evenly?"
"He did himself. He is an amateur cabinetmaker, and at one time used tomake furniture. He made that table over there," she added, pointing toa small round table standing near the corner where was the secretcavity.
"Then no workman was actually employed in fitting it up?" remarked theinspector, disappointedly.
"No. He did it himself, so that nobody should know. And he would noteven let me know the secret of the spring."
"Which showed some distrust," remarked the inspector. "He evidentlypossessed something there which he did not wish you to see."
"Yes. That, however, is not surprising," she remarked. "Many husbandshave secrets--family affairs and such like--with which they hesitate totrouble their wives."
"Certainly," he said, glancing dubiously at me, and no doubtrecollecting that gruesome object now in the doctor's pocket. "But itseems very strange that thieves should come here so boldly, attack bothyou and the maid-servant, and go straight to that secret hiding-place ifthere was not some very strong motive. They evidently knew there wassomething there--something of which they desired to obtain possession."
"But they didn't know the secret of the spring, for they prised itopen."
I placed my hand in my overcoat pocket, and it came in contact with theportrait which I had succeeded in taking--the picture of the deadunknown.
Why had it been kept in such a prominent position in her room? I longedto question her, but at that moment was unable.
The mystery of the murderous attack in which the maid had lost her life;the mystery of that tall, thin man who crept across the apartment; themystery of the theft; the mystery of the human eye, were all enigmasutterly beyond solution.
I took Laking aside and obtained a promise from him not to explain thecircumstances under which we had met. Then to Mrs Parham I introducedmyself later as a casual passer-by who had been alarmed by the startlingdiscovery. I did this because I intended to call again and make theacquaintance of her husband.
Half an hour later, after all inquiry of Mrs Parham had failed toelicit a single fact regarding any person who might have a motive forthe outrage and robbery, I left the house, and walked down the dark,deserted suburban thoroughfare accompanied by the police inspector, whowas on his way back to the station to telegraph the curious facts toScotland Yard.
"Well?" I asked, when we were out in the roadway, "and what do you makeof the affair?"
"What do I think? Why, the lady is lying. She knows who did it, butfears to tell us the truth. There was something hidden under the floorwhich those people intended to get, and got it. Mark me! She dare notspeak, otherwise she'll ruin her own reputation. When we fathom themystery of to-night it will be found to be a very interesting one,depend upon it."
"Then you really suspect her?" I remarked. "Yes, I suspect her. Shehas some secret from her husband--and she fears that through thisrobbery he may learn the truth."
"You know Mr Parham, perhaps--I mean you know something about him?"
"Well, yes," he answered, smiling curiously. "We happen to know MrParham--and if what I suspect is true, then the affair of to-night isnot surprising. Wait and see. The real facts, when they come to light,will very probably amaze you."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
BY WHICH SYBIL EXPLAINS SOMETHING.
Three weeks went by--dull, dreary weeks of constant anxiety. With theassistance of Eric--to whom I had, of course, explained the tragicincident in the home of John Parham--I was ever on the alert, compelledto go down to Neate Street at infrequent intervals in secret from Ericand pose for a few hours in the daytime as the husband of little MrsMorton.
Poor Tibbie led a dreary life in that drab mean street. Mrs Williamswas kind and pleasant, pitying the young wife so constantly separatedfrom her husband. But if my work took me away, well, she ought not togrumble, the good woman declared. There were lots of compositors out ofwork she had heard, now that those linotypes were so universallyadopted. And so she cheered Tibbie up, and the latter soughtdistraction by doing fancy needlework.
Each time I visited her I ran the risk of being followed by some personin the employ of Winsloe, who was, we knew, ever active in his effortsto discover her whereabouts. Her mother had raised a terriblehue-and-cry after a week had passed without news of her. Jack hadunfortunately gone to Scotland Yard and given his si
ster's description,as Cynthia had begun to express a fear that she had met with foul play.
As soon as I heard of this I persuaded Tibbie to write a letter to hermother, assuring her that she was quite well and happy, that she waswith friends, and that she would return in the course of a few days.This letter I sent to a friend in Glasgow, and it was posted from there.
Time after time I looked in wonder at the photograph of the dead unknownwhich I had abstracted from Mr Parham's drawing-room. And time aftertime I reflected whether it would be wise to suddenly confront Tibbiewith it and demand the truth. Sometimes I was sorry that I had not leftthe portrait where I had found it, for I might, when calling upon MrsParham,